


...so i let my walls come down

by dinglehorton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:27:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dinglehorton/pseuds/dinglehorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You killed your mother.” It's been exactly 11 years. To the day. Established Sterek. Canon character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...so i let my walls come down

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's that kind of night. Because it's been that kind of week and I just need to throw this anger and frustration and _whatever_ somewhere, and Stiles angst seemed appropriate.

Before Stiles was born, long before his parents married, Maggie Stilinski was a relatively healthy and active woman. She played and taught the piano to local kids, working nights at a twenty-four hour diner to make ends meet while Mr. Stilinski worked the nightshift as a police officer. They were scrapped for cash and lived in a small, dirty apartment building but they were incredibly happy.  When Jonathan received a raise (his reward for saving the lives of an elderly woman and her five cats from an apartment building fire) and became the sheriff’s right hand man— _I’m training you to take my place someday, Stilinski_ —the two found a small, affordable home on a quiet street in the center of Beacon Hills. They were ecstatic to find out a month later that Maggie was pregnant; even less thrilled to find out that there was also a tumor growing in her brain.

 

They weighed the options— _dammit Maggie, I just think we should talk about not having th—_ but in the end it was _her_ choice; her decision to keep Stiles. She had wanted a child for years, wanted to be able to bring home a little bundle of joy that looked equally like her and equally like Jonathan. It was all she had ever dreamed of, and tumor be damned she was going to get that child. The doctors advised against postponing treatment, but the new life growing inside of her would always come first. Chemotherapy would kill the baby inside of her, and she would never be able to handle the aftermath of that. Jonathan was incredibly overprotective for what seemed like longer than nine months. And then, Stiles was born—brown tousled hair and wide, curious eyes.

 

The chemotherapy, despite the months they had put it off, lessened the tumor significantly and thinned the hair on top of her head. Between baby Stiles and Maggie, their lives were full of chaos and stressful moments. There were surgeries and diaper changes, videotaping Stiles’ first bathtub experience and chemotherapy sessions. By the time the flowers begin to bloom again, Maggie was in remission and Stiles was attempting to walk across their living room carpet from where Jonathan was seated on the floor into Maggie’s awaiting arms.

 

It isn’t until 2 months before Stiles’ sixth birthday that their little house of cards comes crashing down around them.

 

~

 

“If she had gotten the correct treatment on time six years ago, would this be happening?” Jonathan asks, his eyes subconsciously darting to look at Stiles playing with his colored blocks only a few feet away.

 

“Jonathan, I don’t—“

 

He waves his hand dismissively at his wife, “Would this be a problem? Would the cancer have come back?”

 

“It’s a possibility that it wouldn’t have,” the doctor tells them softly. “But cancer isn’t predictable, and there’s no way to know if getting treatment when we suggested it would have made a difference. All we can do right now is start Maggie on another course of treatment, and see where things go from there. It’s not _good_ , but we can be aggressive in fighting this.”

 

“Mommy?” Stiles is at Maggie’s side, fists full of the fabric of her yellow sundress. He has a frown on his face as if he understood their conversation. “Do you have to have surgery?”

 

“No baby,” she says softly and hoists Stiles into her lap. “Not right now. Not yet.”

 

For the two months that Maggie is in the hospital Jonathan can’t even look at his own son. All he sees is Maggie’s eyes and Maggie’s hair. After spending all day at the hospital by her side they finally trudge home every night to a microwave dinner and scratchy Batman sheets— _mommy does the laundry better daddy; hers aren’t so scratchy_. Stiles is quieter, subdued when they’re at home just the two of them. He hides in his room to read his comic books, away from Jonathan’s cold gaze. And when Jonathan cries alone in his bedroom, Stiles pretends that he doesn’t hear him.

 

Stiles is hyperactive and loud with his mother; his son’s smile and laugh only breaks Jonathan’s heart that much more. He tries to placate Maggie, brushing a hand against her cheek and forcing a smile at the two of them as she teaches Stiles how to play poker and Solitaire and every card game she can think of. His heart cracks even further every time she says I love you, and pulls Stiles into a tight, warm embrace. Jonathan can barely even look at his son, let alone think about hugging him.

 

Two months later, newly six year old Stiles finds himself sitting next to his father in front of an open grave.

 

~

 

“Stiles?”

 

Stiles doesn’t need to turn around to know that Derek Hale is standing behind him, hands tucked deep into the pockets of his jeans, and an _I’m the Alpha and I’m worried_ look on his face.

 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Stiles says forcefully, biting back his tears. “Go home. You guys had a rough weekend. Which is what you get for going after a coven the one weekend that Jackson and Lydia decide to sneak away on a vacation, you stupid, gigantic, furry moron. _Go._ I’m sure Isaac could use—“

 

“Isaac’s fine,” Derek says and laces his fingers together with Stiles’. They stand in silence, Maggie Stilinski’s headstone the only thing in front of them. “Scott told me. About today.”

 

Stiles huffs humorlessly, “Of course he did.”

 

“He cares about you. _I_ care about you.”

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Stiles snorts. There’s no humor or sarcasm to his tone of voice. His face is hardened, angry. _Hurt_.

 

“Why didn’t _you_ tell me?”

 

“What do you want to talk about, Derek? Do you want to talk about how my mom is dead? Do you? Do you want to talk about how _my_ _mom_ is dead and it’s because of me? How I killed her. How it’s all my fault.”

  
“Stiles—“

 

“No. Derek, you don’t get to—damn it, you don’t get to say a _goddamn_ _thing_. If I’d never been conceived, if I’d never been _born_ , my mom might still be here. Might still be alive, and my dad wouldn’t be so sad all of the time. Or do you want to talk about how it’s been eleven years now, _eleven years_ _to the day_ , and my dad still takes extra shifts just so he doesn’t have to be near me on today of all days?”

 

Derek shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, but doesn’t disentangle his fingers from Stiles’ hand, “You’re trying to bait me into a fight.”

 

“Oh! Oh let’s talk about how my mom died on my _birthday_ , and all I could think about was how she wouldn’t be able to make me pancakes that night for dinner. How because I was conceived my mom only got _sicker_ instead of better or—“

 

“She _did get_ _better_ , Stiles,” Derek growls out; he pushes his own anger down because that’s so far from what Stiles needs right now.

 

“And because of me she got even _more_ sick later,” Stiles tears his hand away from Derek’s and pushes away from him. Derek instinctively steps forward and reaches out to him. Stiles manages to evade him. “Don’t tell me that it’s not true, because it is. I may have been _six years old_ , but I wasn’t stupid. It was because of me.”

 

“Cancer is such a messed up thing, Stiles,” Derek says, eyes soft, and he has to stamp down the part of him that wants to pull Stiles to his chest and never let him go. Instead he shakes his head bitterly. “You don’t know what would have happened. What if they hadn’t had you, and they fought the cancer, and she still died anyway? You wouldn’t be alive. Your dad would be alone. I wouldn’t have— You helped me get over my own guilt, Stiles. Without you I would still be in that old, rotting house thinking that it was my fault for all of their deaths. The pack would be terrible without you; we would be lost.“

 

“He’s right, son,” Jonathan says and steps forward towards the pair, wearing his Sheriff’s uniform. “We would be lost without you.”

 

Stiles shakes his head and laughs wetly. He wipes his runny nose and says, “Mom would be here.”

 

“Hey. _I love you,_ ” Jonathan steps forward to reassure him, but Stiles steps back into Derek’s chest and lets out a harsh sob. “You’re my son, Stiles.” He grasps Stiles’ t-shirt and pulls him forward into a hug anyways. He can feel Stiles’ tears soaking the shoulder of his work shirt. “I’m so sorry, Stiles. I never—I never realized how much—I’m sorry, son.”

 

Derek rubs gently at Stiles’ shoulders and grasps Stiles’ hand again as Stiles leans his entire body weight against his father, “It’s not your fault.”

 

Jonathan can feel that his son is starting to struggle against the hug, obviously ready to protest Derek’s words, so he squeezes him harder and whispers, “It’s not your fault, son. I promise you; it’s not your fault.”

 


End file.
